The Mob Queen Wants to Claim Me for Herself (In a Reverse World)

As I’m eating the best spaghetti and meatballs I’ve ever had in my life, I find myself making little involuntary sounds of pleasure with each bite. The pasta is perfectly al dente, the sauce rich and complex with hints of basil and garlic, and the meatballs... good God, the meatballs are exceptional. It’s like someone distilled the concept of comfort food into its purest form.

I’m so engrossed in my meal that I don’t notice Maddy approaching our table until she’s standing right beside us, her tall frame casting a slight shadow over the pristine white tablecloth.

“Uhh, hey boss, could we talk in the backroom for a minute?” she asks, her voice low and professional.

I look up, a forkful of pasta halfway to my mouth, to see Caterina’s expression harden almost imperceptibly. Those crimson eyes flash with annoyance as she looks up at her underboss.

“I’m having dinner with Adam,” she says, her tone carrying a warning that makes me instinctively tense.

Maddy shifts her weight slightly, her green eyes darting briefly to me before returning to Caterina. “It’s important,” she says simply.

Caterina’s gaze narrows, studying Maddy’s face with the intensity of someone who can read every microexpression. “How important?”

Maddy nods once, her face carefully neutral. “Yeah. That important.”

Something passes between the two women, an unspoken communication born of years working together. Caterina sighs, placing her napkin beside her plate with deliberate precision.

“Adam, I’ll be right back, okay?” she says, her voice softening as she turns to me.

I nod, my mouth still full of that incredible pasta. “Alright,” I manage after swallowing.

Caterina rises from her chair, smoothing her white suit as she stands. She leans down and places a quick, possessive kiss on my lips before following Maddy through the restaurant.

I watch as they move past the main dining room, heading not toward the kitchen as I might have expected but toward a hallway just past the bathrooms. They disappear around the corner, Caterina’s white suit the last thing visible before they’re gone from sight.

I return to my meal, savoring each bite while trying not to think too hard about what “important” business Maddy might have with Caterina. Given their line of work, it could be anything from a supplier issue to someone needing to be permanently removed from the equation.

I take another sip of the wine Caterina selected, a rich red that complements the tomato sauce perfectly. It’s probably obscenely expensive, but my unrefined palate just registers it as “not Root beer.” I find myself staring at Caterina’s empty chair, wondering how long she’ll be gone.

After a few more bites, I feel a familiar pressure in my bladder. I’ve been so focused on the food that I hadn’t noticed how badly I need to pee. Between the wine and the water, it’s becoming urgent.

‘I wonder if I peed on the floor and they found out I was with Cat, would they just be like, “Oh uhh good job peeing sir.”’

I brush off my intrusive thoughts. I place my napkin beside my plate and push back from the table. Might as well take care of business while Caterina is occupied with whatever “important” matter Maddy needed to discuss.

I make my way across the dining room, nodding awkwardly at a waiter who steps aside to let me pass. The hallway past the main dining area is dimly lit, with ornate sconces casting a warm glow on the deep red walls. I spot the restroom sign and head in that direction, but as I approach, I hear voices coming from further down the corridor.

“I can’t believe this is what you called important,” Caterina’s voice, low and dangerous, carries through the hallway.

I hesitate, my hand on the bathroom door. I should just go in, do my business, and return to the table. That would be the smart move. The safe move.

Instead, I find myself moving toward the sound of Caterina’s voice, drawn by curiosity that I know damn well could get me into trouble.

At the end of the hallway, there’s a door left slightly ajar. Light spills out from the crack, along with the continued murmur of voices. I approach silently, thankful for the plush carpet that muffles my footsteps.

I lean in, just close enough to peer through the narrow opening, and what I see makes my blood freeze in my veins.

The room beyond appears to be some kind of office or private dining area converted for a very different purpose. Plastic sheeting covers the floor, the kind you’d use for painting.

But no one’s painting here.

In the center of the room, secured to a wooden chair with zip ties and duct tape, sits a woman I’ve never seen before. She’s maybe in her forties, with copper-toned skin and dark hair streaked with premature gray. Her face is swollen, one eye nearly shut from what must have been a vicious punch. Blood trickles from her split lip, dripping onto her once-white blouse. Despite her condition, there’s defiance in her remaining open eye as she stares up at her captors.

Standing around her like actors in some grotesque theater production are Caterina, Maddy, and Lara.

Lara bounces on her toes with barely contained excitement, her wild red hair swinging with the movement. In her right hand, she holds a meat cleaver, the blade catching the light as she gestures animatedly. Her blue eyes are wide and fever-bright, her smile stretching unnaturally across her face like a Glasgow grin.

“Maddy, I told you she wouldn’t want to be interrupted for this,” Lara says, her voice lilting and childlike despite the grotesque scene. She twirls the cleaver between her fingers with the casual skill of someone who’s handled knives her entire life. “Now she’s all grumpy, and it’s going to ruin the fun.”

“This is Camila,” Maddy says, ignoring Lara. “She’s the one that keeps killing our dealers in Roxbury.”

Caterina’s entire body goes rigid. Her crimson eyes narrow to dangerous slits as she turns to face Maddy. “You brought me in for street-level shit? Maddy, are you fucking serious?”

Maddy stands her ground, though I notice her shoulders tense slightly. “Boss…”

“Adam is all alone right now,” Caterina continues, cutting her off with a sharp gesture. “This is embarrassing for me.” Her voice drops even lower, taking on that deadly calm that I’ve learned precedes her most violent outbursts. “I left him with his pasta to deal with some junkie street dealer?”

“You told us no torture without talking to you first,” Maddy replies evenly, her green eyes never leaving Caterina’s face. There’s no fear in her expression, just a professional insistence that borders on stubbornness. “After what happened with the Moretti situation, you were very clear about that.”

The mention of “the Moretti situation” seems to give Caterina pause. She inhales deeply through her nose, nostrils flaring slightly as she visibly reins in her temper.

“Alright, alright,” she says after a moment, smoothing her already immaculate white suit with practiced hands. She turns her attention to the woman in the chair, her gaze clinical and detached, like a scientist observing a particularly disappointing specimen. “Which cartel do you work for?”

The bound woman, Camila, jerks her head up, her one good eye-widening. “I don’t work for the cartel,” she says, her voice hoarse but defiant. Despite her brave front, I can see the terror in her expression. Her hands tremble against the zip ties that bind her wrists to the chair arms, and a small puddle has formed beneath her chair that I realize with a sick feeling is urine.

‘The poor girl pissed herself.’

Caterina sighs, the sound heavy with impatience. “I don’t have the patience for this,” she says, her tone flat and disinterested. She gives a small nod toward Lara.

Maddy walks up behind Camila and puts a rag in her mouth.

Lara’s smile widens, and without missing a beat, she slams the cleaver down on Camila’s wrist. The blade slices through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch, severing her left hand clean off.

Camila lets out a muffled scream into Maddy’s hand, her body convulsing against the restraints as blood gushes from the stump of her arm.

The hand drops to the plastic sheet with a wet, meaty thud as blood spurts from the ragged stump where it used to be attached. The severed appendage lies palm-up, its fingers curling slightly inward like a grotesque flower closing for the night.

Blood pools beneath it, spreading outward in an ever-widening crimson lake, soaking into the plastic with hypnotic ripples.

The metallic smell hits me first, copper and something else uniquely horrifying, followed by the wet, raw-meat scent of exposed flesh. I can see white bone fragments gleaming amid the red mess, jagged where the cleaver didn’t make a clean cut through the joint.

My stomach heaves violently, acid rushing up my throat before I can even think to stop it. The spaghetti and meatballs that tasted so heavenly moments ago erupt from my mouth in a chunky, red torrent that spatters across the hallway floor. The sound is unmistakable, guttural retching that echoes off the walls like a dinner bell announcing my presence.

I double over, gripping my knees as another wave hits me, bringing up more partially digested pasta and wine. It splashes onto my pristine white shoes, ruining them instantly with flecks of red sauce and bile that look disturbingly like the blood pooling around Camila’s severed hand.

The door flies open with such force it slams against the wall. Caterina stands in the doorway, her crimson eyes wide with shock that quickly morphs into something between rage and concern.

“Adam?” Her voice cuts through the room like a whip. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I try to respond, but all that comes out is another heave, this one mostly dry but no less violent. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, smearing vomit across my face in the process.

“I... bathroom...” I manage to gasp between spasms, pointing weakly toward the restroom door I never reached.

Lara’s head snaps up at the sound of my retching, her wild expression instantly transforming. The manic glee in her eyes dims, replaced by something almost like embarrassment. She quickly steps forward, positioning herself in front of Camila in a clumsy attempt to block my view of the severed hand.

“Uhhhh, shit!” she exclaims, her voice shifting from the childlike excitement of moments ago to something more measured, almost normal. She awkwardly spreads her arms wider as if making herself bigger might somehow erase the horror scene behind her. The cleaver dangles from her right hand, blood dripping from its edge onto the plastic sheeting with soft, rhythmic pats.

The effort is absurdly futile, like trying to hide an elephant behind a lamppost. Through the gaps between her outstretched arms, I can still see Camila writhing in agony, her stump pumping dark arterial blood that splashes against the plastic in sickeningly regular pulses.

“Don’t look, Adam!” Lara calls out, her voice carrying a strange note of protectiveness that seems wildly out of place coming from someone who just hacked off a woman’s hand. “This isn’t for your eyes!”

Behind her, Maddy is struggling with Camila, who’s bucking violently against her restraints despite the shock that should be setting in. The cloth Maddy had shoved in her mouth has partially worked its way out with her screaming, and Maddy is trying to force it back in, her expression grim but professional, like a nurse performing an unpleasant but necessary procedure.

“Hold still,” Maddy mutters. “You’ll just make it worse.”

Camila’s eyes roll wildly, the whites showing all around as pain and terror overwhelm her.

My stomach heaves again, but there’s nothing left to bring up. I spit a string of bile onto the floor, my legs trembling so badly I’m not sure how I’m still standing.

Caterina moves to my side with surprising speed, her arm wrapping around my waist to support me. Despite everything, the violence, the blood, the horror, her white suit remains immaculate, not a single drop of red marring its pristine surface.

“I’m sorry you had to see this, honey,” Caterina whispers, her voice suddenly gentle as she pulls me against her. “I... didn’t want this part of my life to touch you. At least not this soon.”

The room spins around me, walls bleeding into each other as panic sets in.

“Fuck,” Caterina sighs, her voice heavy with resignation. She releases her grip on my waist, the sudden absence of her support making me sway dangerously. “Lara, trade with Maddy. Maddy, get Adam home. I’ll meet you there when I finish here.”

Lara’s face falls like a disappointed child told she can’t have dessert. “But I was just getting started,” she whines, the cleaver still dangling from her hand, blood dripping from its edge in hypnotic patterns against the plastic sheeting.

“Now, Lara,” Caterina snaps, her tone brooking no argument.

Lara huffs but complies, moving away from Camila with reluctant steps as she puts the cleaver down.

When Caterina turns back to Camila, her expression transforms so completely it’s like watching a mask slide into place. Gone is any trace of the woman who just held me with such care. Her eyes narrow, hardening into crimson stones that burn with cold fury.

“You’ll talk,” she says to Camila, her voice dropping to that dangerous whisper that makes my skin crawl. “They all do, eventually.”

She turns back to me, the mask falling away as quickly as it appeared. Her hand reaches up to cup my face, thumb gently stroking my cheek, careful to avoid the remnants of vomit at the corner of my mouth.

“Just wait for me at home, okay?” she says softly, her crimson eyes searching mine. “I won’t be long.”

I nod mechanically, unable to form words as my brain struggles to process the horror show I’ve just witnessed. My lips move of their own accord, forming a silent “yes” that seems to satisfy her.

Maddy appears at my side, her tall frame replacing Caterina’s as my support. Her grip is firm but gentle as she guides me away from the door, away from the pooling blood and the woman whose screams are now muffled by Lara’s gag.

“Come on,” Maddy murmurs, her voice low and steady. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Lara